Page 110 of The Mistletoe Makeover

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Staying for Christmas seemed too hard.”

“I know. I wish I could make things right and fix the past. I always thought your dad would eventually want contact with you. When he died last year, I realized you never got what you needed.”

“I wanted an explanation. That’s all.” I set the plate down. “I wanted to know if he ever found what he was searching for.”

She looks away uneasily. “I told you he wasn’t happy here. But that’s not the complete story. Hewashappy here... in many ways.” She sighs. “I was wrong to make you think otherwise, because you blamed yourself.”

I hesitate, realizing Mom has been more clued in on my feelings than I thought. All along, I’ve been worried I was the reason. I told myself a lie that became my truth.

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t you or anyone here,” she admits. “It was him. We were mismatched in a lot of ways. But you and your brothers made him happier than he ever was alone. He missed you so much.”

“Then why didn’t he visit?”

Mom draws in a deep breath and plays with the edge of the counter. “I suppose that was my fault. He wrote a letter about a year after he left, asking to visit. And I wrote him back and told him no.”

“Why?”

“Over the years, he asked to visit several times. And I never let him because I knew that a once-a-year visit couldn’t make up for his absence. He never pressed the issue. I wanted you to have a father. Not an occasional visitor. And that was wrong of me. By the time I realized it, it was too late.” She shakes her short hair and adjusts her glasses. “A yearly visit might not have been enough, but it would have been something. I didn’t understand how my hurt was affecting you.” Her shoulders sag as she looks away, unable to meet my eyes.

She believed she was doing the right thing, but we were all running from the pain, from each other, from the things we couldn’t face.

“It’s okay.” I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I’ve got you and my brothers. And I’m not leaving... if that’s alright with you?”

She pulls back from me, searching my face. “You’re...” She can’t even bring herself to say the words.

“Yes, I’m staying for Christmas. I don’t know how long after that, but I can promise you Christmas.”

When I glance over at Jace, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, watching us with a goofy smile.

And he can see it written all over me.This is what happiness looks like.

* * *

The next few days are a blur of errands, buying Christmas gifts and celebrating a successful festival. Ella already left for Sully’s Beach, eager to spend Christmas with her husband, Grant, and their extended family. Jaz made a last-second decision to extend her stay in Maplewood, and I have a feeling Brax had something to do with her change of plans.

Mom and I spend Christmas Eve making a feast while Jace heads into town for last-minute shopping.

“I bet he’s buying a gift for you,” Jaz hints as she scoops cranberry sauce into a bowl. Brax is watching her at the kitchen island, offering to taste-test everything.

I crack open the oven door. “I told him we’re each buying something small,” I say, checking the apple pie. “It’s too soon for extravagant gifts.”

Jaz looks at me like I lost my mind. “You will not turn down any gift that man gives you. If he wants to buy you a brand-new Tesla, let him.”

“I will not accept a car,” I say stubbornly. “I might be dating a celebrity, but I want to have a relationship that’s as close to normal as possible. He knows I can’t compete with extravagant gifts. If Jace wants to win me over, he will have to use something more than money.”

He’s already concerned about how he’ll protect me from the press and the constant demands of being in the public eye. But I’m not worried about it. I might have to share him with the world, but when he returns to Maplewood or visits me in Sully’s Beach, he’ll be all mine.

Brax sinks a spoon into the cranberry sauce as Jaz slaps his hand away. He gives her a lopsided smile. “Do you think after dinner tonight we could have a friendly hockey competition?”

“I’m in,” Vale yells from the living room.

“We aren’t playing hockey tonight,” I say, grabbing two hot pad mitts with a picture of Will Ferrell dressed as an elf. “It’s Christmas Eve. We’re stuffing our faces and hanging out. And tomorrow morning we’re opening gifts in our pajamas and then having a wrapping paper fight, just like old times.” As I slide out the pie, Mom checks the turkey.

“The bird is ready,” she announces.

Brax looks at Vale. “I’m not cutting it.”

Vale shakes his head. “Don’t look at me. I did it last year.”

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